


Really, Really Ridiculously Good-Looking

by dragonspell



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world liked to think that if someone was really, really good-looking, then that person wouldn’t have any problems at all but the world was wrong. Really, really wrong. Jensen Ackles, the world's top model, is sick of Jared Padalecki stealing his rightfully earned spotlight. He just wants Jared to take his llama and his cock-a-whatever and go home but, because of sick twist of fate, Jensen is stuck shooting an ad with his rival for the eccentric designer MiSHA.  (Zoolander j2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Really, Really Ridiculously Good-Looking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [spn_cinema](http://spn-cinema.livejournal.com/).

Life could be so unfair. Even to the really, really good-looking. The world liked to think that if someone was really, really good-looking, then that person wouldn’t have any problems at all but the world was wrong. Really, really wrong.

Jensen Ackles sat down his glass of champagne and adjusted his pillow in his plush, first-class seat. If life was fair, Jensen thought, he wouldn’t be in a first class seat on a plane and heading to Hawaii to shoot a nationally-running campaign. No, wait…

That wasn’t quite right.

If life was fair, Jensen wouldn’t be stuck on a plane _with Jared Padalecki_. Or his llama.

Jensen pulled his black, Versace eye mask down to peek at the animal in question. It sat at the front of the plane, its shaggy head down and fixated on the little checkered board with its meaningless pieces, embroiled in a silly game with one of its midget friends. It raised its eyes and caught Jensen staring. Smiling smugly, it waved. Jensen looked away and shifted his attention to the llama eating from a bucket in the next seat over. He preferred its company to that of _Jared._ Jared with his artfully mused hair looking like he’d just rolled out of bed to the untrained eye when anyone in the know knew just how long it must have taken him to achieve that look…he was such a, a, a _fake_.

Jensen liked to pride himself on his honesty in his modeling—his true identity shining through whether he was a hot CEO or a hot merman or just a hot model; it was all still him. Jensen, though, didn’t even know what Jared Padalecki _was_. Was he a surfer? A bum? An out-of-work actor? What?

“Jared Padalecki, America’s newest fashion sensation, is taking the runways by storm! Stay tuned as E! goes deep beneath the ocean surface surface that is Padalecki’s zen-like attitude to discover the man underneath.” Jensen glared at the wide screen TV at the front of the plane as Jared’s ridiculous face crossed _that_ , too.

“Yeah,” TV Jared said, with a shrug. One of the green gossamer fairy wings that he was wearing on his shoulders fluttered. “I mean, I just don’t know how this all happened. You just never know, you know? Until you know. Then you, like, _know..._ ”

The screen whoshed back to Giuliana’s radiant face. “It’s _deep_. Join us as we chronicle Jared’s sudden rise to fame after being discovered by a little known talent contest and rocketing to stardom--” Jensen fumbled for the small remote tucked into his seat and firmly pressed the off button.

“Hey!” Jared said, looking up from his game again. “I was watching that.”

“No you weren’t,” Jensen snapped. “And it wasn’t any good anyway. I can’t even watch the news anymore.” At this rate, Jensen wouldn’t even be able to know who was talking about him because everyone was just talking about Jared. Everywhere he went it was just Jared, Jared, Jared. Frankly, Jensen was getting _sick_ of Jared.

“You know,” Jared’s little midget friend said, coming to Jared’s rescue, “not everything is about you.”

Jared nodded at his little board. “That’s right,” he added, no doubt feeling taller. “Some of us had to actually _work_ to get where we’re at. It wasn’t handed to us.”

Jensen slammed his fist against the arm of his seat. “It wasn’t handed to me, either!” Whatever! Jensen didn’t have to explain himself to the likes of _Jared Padalecki._ Jensen knew that he deserved everything he’d ever gotten and that was the truth. He’d worked hard to get where he was at, rising up through the doll-drums of fashion obscurity. He’d _done_ the cheap catalog shoots—the boy scout outfits and the brick pants—and the sleazy “casting couches” (they never really casted _anything_ unless you were “casting about” looking for loose change) and he had the photographs to prove it.

Settling back into his seat, Jensen replaced the eye mask and blocked out the rest of the plane—which was filled not only with Jared’s hulking presence, a midget and a llama but was also nearly overstuffed with the rest of Jared’s “traveling companions” (Jared apparently needed to surround himself with people just to keep everyone from noticing his big, swelled head). Those companions included no less than five spiritual advisors, four unemployed musicians, three fitness trainers, two all-natural herbalists, and a partridge in a pear tree. To be fair, Jensen didn’t _really_ think that the last one was actually a partridge. But that’s only because he’d never seen a partridge so he wouldn’t actually know what one would look like. For all he knew, it was a pigeon that Jared was only claiming was a cock-a…cock-a-moo. Cock-a-doodle-doo. Whatever. Jensen just thought that it was Jared trying to get away with saying “cock” in public.

It certainly wasn’t a pear tree it was resting in, either; it was a fake, knock-off palm tree that looked like it had seen better days. Days when the Cock-a-poodle wasn’t eating its fake plastic leaves.

Jensen hoped that the silly bird got indigestion and pooped all over Jared’s head.

It hadn’t been Jensen’s idea to be stuck at 10,000 feet with a men-na-jay-trois. He’d only agreed when his manager, Jim Beaver, had threatened to drop him (“Let’s face it, kid, you aren’t getting any younger. This is a really hot shoot and maybe it will help your sagging career because there’s just no fixing your sagging ass”). Jensen grumpily rubbed his backside. There was nothing wrong with his ass. He worked out every day to keep it in peak, physical condition.

…Didn’t he?

He resisted the urge to run to the bathroom to look.

This was all Jared’s fault anyway. If he hadn’t come along and tried to muscle in on Jensen’s scene, then Jensen wouldn’t have to be facing any nasty rumors about how he just might not “have it” anymore. Jensen _knew_ that he was getting old. He was nearing thirty and that, in model years, meant that he was soon only going to be good for modeling in the geriatric section with a cane and not on the top fashion catwalks that he was used to. He didn’t need a young, fresh upstart like Jared Padalecki to remind him of that horrible reality.

It just went to show how fast the fashion world worked. Six months ago, Jensen had been flying high as _the_ top male model in the fashion industry and now, not only was he being shoved off his mountain, he was being “encouraged” to try and pick up Padalecki crumbs to try and keep himself relevant.

Life was horribly unfair. The Cock-a-ladle shrieked and Jensen buried his head under his pillow, praying that the plane would land soon.

* * *

The sun was shining brightly just to spite Jensen, he knew it. He’d deliberately dressed all in black for his arrival in Hawaii—Armani—and he’d really been hoping that it would be raining when they landed. But no. Instead the weather was coordinating with Jared, matching his surfer shorts and print T and blindingly bright smile. Even the weather had turned against Jensen.

Another thing that Jensen had never noticed about Jared, too, was just how tall the man was. Jensen pouted unhappily. Jared seemed to be putting him to shame everywhere. Younger, taller…

Their employer had met them at the small landing strip where their jet had landed, a small, shaking Chihuahua in his hands as he stood proudly in his couture purple spandex. Jensen pasted on a charming smile as he moved to shake the man’s hand but Jared beat him there. Maybe he was _faster_ than Jensen, too. “Hi, Misha!” Jared greeted. “I’m Jared.”

“Not ‘Misha,’” the man corrected severely, sending a small stab of fear into Jensen’s heart along with a little thrill that the ire was directed at Jared instead of Jensen. “Mi _SHA_!”

Jensen nodded in understanding because, yes, there was a lot of difference there, he could hear it. It was also good business to know how to properly pronounce designer’s names. Jared, however, was a complete ‘ninny-come-poop.’ “…It doesn’t sound much different to me,” he said, scratching his head.

“Moron,” Jensen huffed under his breath as Misha—MiSHA—glared. “It’s a pleasure to finally work with you, Mi _SHA_ ,” Jensen said, stepping in front of Jared and trying to draw attention away from his less than stellar new partner.

“Yes, well,” Misha said, his hand still petting the dog. “I never needed you before.” He ignored Jensen’s outstretched hand and started walking away. “Katinka will show you to your hotel.”

A severe-looking Eastern European woman in a black vinyl catsuit stepped in front of them and Jensen blinked, wondering where she’d come from as he could have sworn that she hadn’t been there a few seconds ago. “Gentlemen,” Katinka said, her accent thick. “If you vould valk this vay.” It wasn’t a request.

She led them in Misha’s direction until Misha slipped into the backseat of a black Lexus—after depositing the dog on the pavement just outside the car. As Jensen walked by, he glanced at the dog and then back at Misha who shrugged. “It’s not my dog,” he said and closed the door, leaving Jensen alone with Katinka and the moron whose hair was looking perfectly ruffled in the slight breeze. Oh, right. And the gifts from the twelve days of Christmas which were just now starting to unload themselves off the plane. There was a jingle of bells from one of the monks and the llama was protesting loudly about having to walk down the provided stairs.

So totally not fair.

* * *

Jensen was ridiculously good-looking. He knew that. He was _beyond_ ridiculously good-looking, well into ridiculously, _ridiculously_ good-looking. This had just been a fact that Jensen had known since he was a child—sort of like the sky was blue and grass was green (unless, of course, there was a lot of pollution—remember to reduce, recycle and be kind, rewind!). Everyone had known it which is why his parents had wanted him to go into modeling. It would have been a tragedy if he hadn’t.

He was used to getting stared at in the street, to making heads turn, to making women sigh and flutter, to making men stand up straight and flex. What he _wasn’t_ used to was being ignored. Jensen pouted at his own reflection in the large make-up mirror and watched it sparkle back.

Jared, too, was ridiculously good-looking. He was a male model, after all, and one that _almost_ could rival Jensen (Jensen would give him ‘ridiculously good-looking and a half’). So, yeah, perhaps Jared deserved some attention, too. But did he really need _all_ the hair-dressers? He might have had more hair than Jensen (and not just on his head, Jensen noted smugly) but that didn’t mean that he needed all those people just to manage it.

“Oh, honey,” Genevieve, his make-up artist, said kindly, correctly guessing the reason for Jensen’s funk. “You know hair-dressers. They’re excited by anything they might get the chance to put barrettes in. Now close your eyes…” She ran another smooth coat of the air-brush across Jensen’s cheeks. “Need to get rid of these freckles… You have so many.”

Jensen felt his face go a little red. It was true. The freckles were his greatest imperfection. Sometimes, they worked for him and sometimes they didn’t. Misha had made it quite clear that the freckles were a big no-no—thus why he was sitting shirtless in the make-up chair getting _everything_ covered up. “And you know that they can’t do anything until I finish base-coating anyway.”

Trying to take Genevieve’s advice to heart, Jensen opened his eyes again and took in his own reflection once more. He hit one of his signature poses—his fabled ‘Blue Steel’—which cheered him up a little, especially when Genevieve gasped and stared for awhile. Yeah, he still had it. There was no way that Jared could compete with that. In the next chair over, Jared was quietly pleading with Katie to “Be gentle, please be gentle, oh GOD!” as she ripped away another patch of unsightly chest hair with hot wax strips. Jensen smiled, suddenly very happy. He hoped that Jared showed up on set with barrettes on his chest.

“Excuse me,” a man said and Jensen turned his head slightly to the left in acknowledgement as Genevieve grumbled at him.

“Yes?”

“Are you Jensen Ackles?”

“Why, yes, I am,” Jensen replied, turning in his chair to take in the man who was trying to talk to him. Genevieve dealt with the shift in position by focusing on the freckles on his shoulders and back. Jensen leaned forward helpfully which had the dual effect of making him seem painfully interested in the man in front of him. Score one for him.

The man was short, almost stocky, with his long hair pulled back into a slick ponytail and horn-rimmed glasses, wearing a cheap suit and a shirt that clashed horribly with his tie. It was quite tragic really. Jensen resisted the urge to try and reach out and fix the man’s look. He’d learned a long time ago that not everyone reacted kindly to his sincere desire to help and inform.

“My name’s Christian Kane,” the man said, pasting on a small smile. “I’m a reporter and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

“About me?” Jensen asked, perking up. He hadn’t noticed this man around set, so it was obvious that he had come to Jensen before Jared—or even _instead_ of Jared—and so this was, obviously, great and important news.

Christian paused before continuing. “Why, yes. Yes, about you.”

“What magazine are you from?” Jensen asked as Genevieve tilted his head to the side to cover a few prominent freckles off his neck.

“Uh…”

Jensen frowned. This Christian Kane didn’t seem to be a very good reporter if he couldn’t even remember what magazine he was from. Then again, Jensen thought, wanting to give the man a benefit of a doubt, maybe he was just new. Jensen had had a hard time remembering his various employers’ names when he’d first been starting out, too. Jim had been so upset with him, but he’d always just sighed and muttered something about how it was good that Jensen was so pretty which had always cheered Jensen up. “Just a…just a local one,” Christian finally said. “So how long have you been modeling?”

Jensen smiled fondly and waved a hand. “Silly. A model never reveals his age. I can tell you, though, that I have been modeling since I was a very small child.”

“Oh,” Christian said, nodding. “And I see that you’re working with Misha Collins.”

“Yes,” Jensen answered, graciously. “It’s pronounced Mi _SHA_ , though.” He held a finger up to his lips as he thought. “I’m unsure how to pronounce the last name.” That was rather troubling. He’d have to find out right away.

“Right.” Christian scribbled a few notes down on a tiny pad of paper and Jensen craned his head trying to look at it. “So have you ever worked with Mi… _SHA_ before?”

“Oh, no. It’s never worked out, before.” Jensen looked away, not wanting to have to confess that he’d never worked with the designer before because the designer had never wanted him before now. His eyes drifted over to Jared where it looked like the yeti had been mostly de-furred. His little midget friend was laughing in the background but Jensen’s eyes caught on Jared’s newly smoothed chest before he realized what he was doing and looked away again.

“Ah, I see. So would you know anything about MiSHA’s business relations?”

“What?” Jensen mumbled, bringing himself back around to face Christian again. “Oh, no. Not really. I do know that he’s quite cutting edge, though. Very highly sought after.”

Christian nodded and looked ready to ask another question before his eyes caught in the mirror and suddenly widened. “Been nice talking to you, Jensen,” he said hurriedly and dashed off. Jensen watched him go curiously, wondering if Christian had suddenly realized what a fashion mistake those classes were with his particular facial structure. Jensen could understand that kind of emergency.

Two big, burly security guys jogged past with Katinka following, her heels click, click, clicking on the tile and Jensen turned back around his chair. “I hope he got what he needed,” Jensen said. Genevieve smiled at him.

“Maybe he just wanted to get close to _the_ Jensen Ackles,” she said and Jensen smiled happily.

“Aww, thanks,” he said shyly, ducking his head. Genevieve smiled back and continued brushing the make-up over his shoulder.

When Jensen looked over at Jared’s chair again—to see if the hair-dressers were ever going to come over and gel his hair or if he was going to have to do it himself—he found Jared staring back at him. Jared stuck his tongue out at Jensen before turning away, joking loudly to Katie and Jensen felt an odd sensation settle in the pit of his stomach.

He chalked it up to indigestion and went back to staring in his own mirror, practicing his different looks. A model, after all, needed a variety in order to be truly successful and Jensen was one of the industry’s best. One day, he hoped to perfect what he knew to be his _ultimate_ look. ‘Magnum’ was a look that Jensen had been working on for most of his modeling career but yet he still had yet to pull it off correctly. He just hadn’t been able to reach inside him to that very depth of his soul where Magnum resided. One day, he was going to perfect it and no one was going to think twice about models like Jared Padalecki.

* * *

Jensen should have known better. He should have known better and he should have turned Jim down the minute that he started talking about all this poopy-cock. Him—Jensen Ackles—do a shoot with Jared Padalecki? It was _impossible_. Their looks were just completely different. Jensen felt like he was standing next to a Clydesdale when he stood beside Jared. Complete with one hoof pawing at the ground because Jared just could _not_ hold still. “What is wrong with you?” Jensen had grumped the first time that Jared had nearly knocked him over. He’d shoved the giant oaf-sickle away and returned to posing. Jensen wondered how anyone had ever gotten a shot of Jared. The photographers must have all invested in those kinds of high-speed cameras that they usually reserve for wildlife specials.

At the moment, too, Jared was zooming around the set like a hummingbird on speed after having just drank a truck of energy drinks and Jensen was dizzy just from watching him. A giant, nearly naked hummingbird because Misha’s current line was called _Barely There_ and that involved long, sheer scarves and tiny string bikinis. Jensen found his eyes naturally drawn southward…

Not that Jensen was interested, of course. It was just a natural reaction because Jared? Was huge all over. Jensen didn’t want Jared to flitter anywhere near him. Jensen had already had enough of Jared because every time the giant got near, he was always trying to touch Jensen—hanging all over Jensen like a monkey, pawing and groping _everywhere_. Jensen didn’t _like_ to be pawed at—not while he was working. He constantly shoved Jared away, tossing a few choice words at him but Jared had yet to get a mitten and hatch a clue. One time, Jared had nearly smeared Jensen’s make-up—all of Genevieve’s hard work—while commenting on Jensen’s _freckles_ of all things. “Wow. Are they…all over?” Jared had asked, brutally reminding Jensen of his imperfection. Jensen jerked away, stunned, but unable to think of a good comeback.

He opened his mouth, his mind working furiously but there was just nothing. Jared was one to talk! He had moles, like, everywhere! But in the business, those were just called “beauty marks.” Jensen snarled. _Life wasn’t fair._

Misha was completely ignoring the both of them, too, stroking a pure white Persian cat that he’d found somewhere as he chatted up one of Jared’s spiritual advisors, a leggy blonde named Janine who swore that she could see your entire future based on reading tea leaves. Jensen bet that she could see something alright, but it was more because of the _tea_ than who she was drinking it with.

“Closer together guys,” the photographer coaxed, waving a hand at them from behind his camera. Jensen reluctantly angled his body closer to Jared’s. The photographer waved harder.

Jensen squeaked as large arms suddenly wrapped around him, dragging him off balance and against a smooth, bare chest. With just a nano-second to spare, he remembered that he was a professional and posed just as the camera flashed. “You’re like a leprechaun,” Jared whispered. Jensen jumped at the feel of Jared’s breath against his cheek and then posed again as he tried to figure out what Jared had just said. He had no idea what a leper-coozy was but he did know that it sounded an awful lot like ‘leper’ and, while he had no idea what _that_ was either, he knew it was nothing good. Jensen scowled at Jared. “You’re…short. Kind of,” Jared finished weakly and Jensen had just about had enough.

The sheer nerve. Just who did he think he was, anyway? Six months ago, no one had ever even HEARD of Jared Padalecki. And the giant better watch out because he could go right back into that obfusion…obfuscasionism…ob…obfucking. Whatever. It was a quick stumble off that narrow catwalk. Jared had gotten his start modeling underwear for Victoria Secret’s new menswear line Victor’s Secret—something he had already reminded Jensen of during their short time together on set—and Jensen just wished that he had used those fake, fluffy wings to fly away somewhere because this was one “angel” that Jensen had no intention of talking to.

Jensen shoved Jared away. He was done. He did _not_ have to put up with this kind of treatment and he was going to call Jim and tell him exactly that. Jensen’s career wasn’t _over_ , it was just under siege! He had to fight back! Like a Marine!

…Those were the ones with the nice uniforms, right? Not that Jensen wouldn’t look good in anything. He could be the new fashion Rambo, kicking polyester butt.

“Jensen!” the photographer said. “Where are you going?” Jensen didn’t bother to respond as he stormed back to his hotel room.

Behind him, he could hear Jared saying “What a diva,” but he ignored that, too. He’d tried. He really had. He’d given it his best shot—he was a professional, after all. But there was only so much he could put up with and hours of posing professionally with an _ape_ just pushed him too far.

* * *

Jensen was tired of being ignored. Everyone seemed to want to fawn over Jared. Jared, Jared, Jared. Jared, who was always staring at Jensen with a stupid little smirk, like he was well aware of the jealousy that was eating away at Jensen and he liked it. Jared who always seemed to have a nasty remark just waiting for Jensen if Jensen so much as looked at him. Of course, Jensen didn’t understand most of what popped out of Jared’s mouth, but he was sure that they were insults of some kind. He wasn’t going to forget about the leper comment.

And just where did Jared get off on pointing out all of Jensen’s flaws? Like his freckles or his legs or the fact that Jared was technically taller (by just a little bit!). Jensen certainly didn’t go around commenting on Jared’s dopey smile or his...his...overly muscled body... Jensen snarled.

Well, Jensen wasn’t going to let anyone talk about Jared Padalecki in his presence anymore. He was going to start a boy-cottage. A movement! He’d run for president on the simple statement that the words “Jared” and “Padalecki” never be in the same sentence again.

Jensen threw himself on the white couch and pouted at the fireplace of his room. There had to be other people out there that were just as fed up as him. He didn’t even feel like using his time wisely to try and work on ‘Magnum’ like he should.

 _SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!_

Jensen tumbled off the couch, bumping his elbow against the coffee table and landing hard on his knees. What the Hell was _that_? He glanced around wildly before finding Jared’s stupid Cockney sitting on the back of a chair, staring at him like it might be considering eating him. Jensen stared back, daring it to go through with the threat. The bird just jerked its head to the side and kept eyeing him. “Creepy Cock-a-many!” Jensen shouted at it, waving his arms. “You come to spy on me?” How had it gotten into the room in the first place? Jensen wondered if it had been planted—like one of those high tech spy bugs except not as high tech and definitely not as buggy.

“Jensen?” a voice asked and Jensen stared at the bird.

“You talk?” he whispered, his eyes getting big. So _this_ was Jared’s evil plan!

“What are you talking about? Of course I talk!” That was when Jensen realized that the voice was not coming from the bird at all—not unless it was skilled in the talent of ven-tril-o-gy. Jensen spun around and stared in shock—and a little bit of fear—at the combination of black, horn-rimmed glasses, badly thought-out hair, and plaid. He shuddered. It was horrifying. “Don’t you remember me? I’m Christian Kane. We talked earlier.”

Jensen nodded sharply and swallowed back the urge to help Kane once again. “Of course,” he said graciously. “You were writing an article on me.”

“Um…” Kane glanced down at the floor. “Actually, Jensen, I…wasn’t.”

Jensen frowned and rubbed at his head. “You weren’t?”

“No.” With the admission, Genevieve’s voice came back to haunt Jensen and Jensen suddenly had an e-pip-hany. It was all true, then. Jensen stared at the sincere, plaid-clad man in front of him and considered getting one of the designer shirts from his closet—no, focus! He considered the man’s true intentions. Then he thought about all the problems he was having what with Jared and the stupid Cock-bird and the incredibly uncomfortable wedgie Misha’s bikini briefs were giving him.

He had to find a way to let poor Christian down easy. Honesty was always the best policy. “Listen,” he said. “I’m flattered and all, but I’m not in the mood to have sex.”

Christian’s head jerked up. “ _What_?”

“Alright, fine!” Jensen conceded. He really didn’t want to fight about this and, maybe after Jensen got the glasses and the plaid off of him—not to mention restyled his hair—Christian wouldn’t be all that bad... “Maybe we can just fool around a little but—”

“I don’t want to have sex with you!” Christian shouted, retreating a few steps.

“You don’t?” Jensen asked, confused.

“No, I wanted to see you!”

Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep a headache in check. This was really turning out to be a bad day. “Listen, you short little man,” he said, trying to be as patient as possible. “You can’t keep coming into people’s rooms and wanting to have sex, then not wanting to have sex, then wanting to have sex.”

Christian threw up his hands. “Christ,” he swore. Then he reached out and grabbed Jensen. Christian, Jensen decided, really needed to work on the mixed signals he was giving. “Would you just listen to me?” Christian snapped. Jensen glared at him but shut his mouth. “I’ve been investigating Misha Collins and the shady corporations who fund him.” Jensen wanted to remind Christian that it was pronounced MiSHA but from the look in Christian’s eyes, he thought better of it. “I’m here to warn you, Jensen, that something fishy is going on!”

Jensen sniffed at the air but he didn’t smell any fish. He wondered what Christian was talking about. “Fishy,” Christian repeated, looking exasperated, “as in ‘not good.’” Oh. Well, he should have just said that in the first place. “And I have reason to believe that your life is in danger.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jensen said. Misha’s security was some of the best that he’d ever seen. Matter-of-fact, there they were right now, checking up on Jensen.

Christian squeaked, looking wide-eyed at the three big, burly men who had suddenly filled the doorway of Jensen’s hotel room and then roughly shook Jensen. “Just remember what I told you!” he said and then ran for the open balcony doors and jumped over the railing. Jared’s Cock-a-poo followed after him, squawking loudly.

“So that’s how it got in,” Jensen muttered, watching the bird fly off. The security personnel filed past him, all diving off the exact same balcony as Katinka stalked into the room.

“Jensen,” she purred. “Perhaps it is time you took a nice long break. I vill arrange for massage, yes?”

Well. Now that Jensen thought about it, he was in sore need of a massage. Life was just so _stressful_ lately.

* * *

Either Jensen had a different idea of what a “massage” was than Katinka or this was a brand new technique. He was currently locked in a room that smelled vaguely of flowers with no massage table and no masseuse—just two bean bag chairs and a small table holding a small vial. Speaking of the vial, it seemed to be where the scent was coming from so maybe it was one of those relaxing oil scents. Possibly from Peru. Jensen thought that this was quite possibly a waiting room only he wasn’t used to being held in waiting rooms—he was used to being led right in to THE room—and he was, indeed, locked in. He’d tried the door. Several times.

Deciding just to wait it out, Jensen flopped down onto one of the bean bag chairs and started counting the individual squares of blue tile that surrounding him, getting all the way to thirty-six before losing count and just settling for labeling it as “a lot of squares.”

He wondered briefly how the shoot was going before brushing it off entirely. They were missing him, so it was most definitely _not_ going. They couldn’t push ahead without their star. …Could they? He spent a few more moments pondering before the door finally opened.

Expecting to be led to another room or, at the very least, a masseuse, Jensen stood. What he got was very, very different. None other than Jared Padalecki—minus his usual, village-like following—was being shoved through the door as a man who sounded suspiciously like Misha hissed at him to get inside. A ferret bounded into the room, circling around Jared’s feet, before it was yanked back out, the door slamming shut.

Jensen blinked. This wasn’t happening. “What are you doing here?” he snapped. This was supposed to be HIS place of relaxation. Having to spend time with Jared Padalecki was most definitely _not_ relaxing.

Jared bristled. “What are _you_ doing here?” he shot back.

“I was here first.” That had to count for something.

“Yeah? Well, like in everything else, you’re being pushed aside to make room,” Jared said, hunching his shoulders.

Jensen’s mouth dropped open as he struggled to find a comeback for that. “You…”

“You know what, Freckles?” Jared cut-in, “How about you just don’t talk anymore?” He flopped himself down onto the green bean bag chair—the one that Jensen had been sitting in just a few minutes ago—and efficiently shut Jensen out.

Minutes ticked by as Jensen tried to think of a particularly cutting comeback but, like everything having to do with Jared, he failed rather miserably. Instead, he leaned against the far wall and pretended that he was doing anything but focusing on in Jared (he could hear the man BREATHE—was he an OX?).

Jensen’s attention span lasted all of twenty minutes. “What’s your problem, anyway?” he asked bluntly.

“ _My_ problem?” Jared repeated, looking at Jensen for the first time since he’d dismissed him. “You acted completely _whack_ around me since I first met you. What’s _your_ problem?”

There was no way Jared was blaming this on Jensen. Jensen clearly remembered Jared being quite rude the first time he’d ever met him. “I don’t have a problem. You’re obviously the one with the problem.”

“No, _I_ don’t have a problem,” Jared said, glaring. “ _I’m_ just fine. You’re the one who’s always attacking me!”

“I do not attack you!”

“Yes you do! Every time I see you, you look down on me.”

“You look down on me!” At least, Jensen thought that he did. It sounded good anyway. “The first time we met--”

“The first time we met, you _ignored_ me,” Jared accused.

Jensen’s jaw dropped. He didn’t... “No, when I met you at the Fashion Awards at--”

“We didn’t first meet in LA, Jensen,” Jared interrupted a hint of bitterness and hurt sharpening his tone. The only problem was, it just didn’t make any sense. Jensen clearly remembered meeting the “up and coming” model Jared Padalecki backstage in Los Angeles where Jared had just stared at Jensen’s outstretched hand and kept on walking. “We met in Vancouver.”

“ _Vancouver?_ ” Jensen said, racking his brain trying to think of what Jared could possibly be talking about. He was pretty sure that he would have remembered having met Jared.

“During the Nigel Barker photoshoot. You don’t remember? You were supposed to have a couple of frames with me but you didn’t show up.”

“I...” Jensen had to take a minute to ponder. He honestly didn’t remember anything like that. Though there was that one time that he’d been supposed to go to Canada but his plane had been delayed... “I was in Paris.” That didn’t make any sense! How was he supposed to meet Jared in Vancouver if he’d been in Paris? “I videoconferenced.”

“Yeah,” Jared said bitterly. “Where you said that there wasn’t anything urgent waiting for you so you were just going to stay in Paris.” Jared sighed, his face falling. “See? This is what I mean. You’re _Jensen Ackles_ —do you know what it’s like trying to become a model in your shadow? And no one knows you’re such a douche because they look at your perfect bone structure and your adorable freckles and think that you must just be some kind of angel.”

“I…” Jensen didn’t know where to start first; he was so confused. “I’m not a douche—did you just say ‘adorable freckles’?” Jensen must have heard that wrong. Of all the things to pick out about him as being attractive, his freckles weren’t one of them. He’d considered having them surgically removed at one point but Jim had talked him out of it (at the time, Jensen had been doing quite a few ‘schoolboy ads’ and Jim had called the freckles ‘pedo-bait’ whatever that meant).

Jared crossed his arms and didn’t answer. “Anyway,” Jensen continued. “ _You’re_ the angel. Perfect abs and your perfect hair…”

“You like my hair?” Jared asked.

“Well…” Sometimes, Jensen really needed to watch his tongue. It tended to run away with him. “I mean, obviously mine is…” Jared stood up and started moving towards Jensen. Jensen was once again incredibly aware of just how damn _tall_ Jared was. Huge. Monstrous. Gargan-u-tan. “…better…”

Jared really needed to learn to respect the rules to personal space, Jensen decided, because it was awfully hard to think when he was around. Maybe it had to do with the amount of oxygen Jared’s large body obviously required. He was probably sucking in more than his fair share. Yeah. That was it. Jared’s hand slapped against the wall beside Jensen’s head, pining Jensen down with presence alone. Jensen’s head felt like it was spinning, floating on the scent of Jared and the unknown flowers. It was…trippy.

The consummate professional, Jensen kept his chin lifted, just in case somebody needed a profile shot. They’d probably get a killer one right now. Campaign-worthy. Jensen could feel it.

“I think…” Jared said softly, his eyes burning into Jensen’s but still not touching him. “…that we should have sex.”

Jensen…didn’t disagree. He grabbed Jared’s head and hauled him down for a kiss. Jared met him halfway, shoving him up against the wall with his ridiculously big hands, and Jensen groaned, letting himself move easily with Jared, not bothering to think twice. Just like modeling, Jensen was born for this.

So, apparently, was Jared. Jared’s breath hissed out harshly as he jerked Jensen away from the wall. “Floor,” he said. Jensen blinked at him, confused, and glanced down at the tile that they were standing on. Yes, there was a floor. Jared shoved him downward. “ _Floor_ , Jensen.”

Oh. _Oh._ Jensen dropped to his knees and dragged Jared down with him, his hands pulling on Jared’s arms. Jared kept kissing him, his tongue licking at Jensen’s, as he moved. He fell the last few inches, the Clydesdale in him coming out again, but Jensen didn’t complain because he rather liked being buried under the weight and it gave him a chance to touch Jared’s nicely maintained body without having to worry about holding himself up.

Jared was already fumbling with the fly of Jensen’s pants and Jensen decided to help as not only was this particular pair supremely tight, but he also knew that the button, zipper, cross-over combo was a bit complicated if you weren’t a professional. He had no idea how much experience Jared had with such matters. Jared smacked him away, his fingers easily working through the fastenings. “I got it,” he said and Jensen smiled, reaching out to work on Jared’s pants—leather with a dark purple tiger stripe.

“I like your pants,” Jensen said, pulling at the zipper.

“Thanks,” Jared replied, breathlessly. “They’re—” Jensen cut him off with a kiss as he shoved a hand into Jared’s pants. For once, he was a bit more interested in what was _in_ the clothes than who had made them. He could always find that out later.

And those little bikini briefs hadn’t been lying, either. Jensen ran his fingers over the length of Jared’s cock and shivered. Big all over. Jensen didn’t know how Jared managed to pull his pants on in the morning with how big it was. He peeled Jared’s pants down and pulled away, gasping, to look at it, feeling his eyes growing big. “No wonder you always want to talk about your cock,” Jensen whispered, gently touching the cock in question. Jensen was no slouch, but if he had one that big, he’d probably name a bird after it, too—just so he could slip the reminder into every day conversation (“Oh, have you seen my Cock-a-moodle? It’s very big”).

“What?” Jared asked breathlessly, his eyebrows downward in confusion. Deciding that he liked that look on Jared—any photographer would be begging to snap a few—Jensen kissed Jared again—and promptly forgot everything that he’d been thinking when Jared wrapped his fingers around Jensen’s dick. It wasn’t Jensen’s fault. He just wasn’t a very good multi-tasker.

It was impossible to concentrate anyway with Jared rolling his hips like he was, rubbing up against Jensen as he pushed him down to the floor. They’d wasted too much time fighting and Jared seemed to want to make up for lost time with the way his hands were everywhere, sliding down Jensen’s body and pushing his clothes aside. Jensen arched upward, biting his bottom lip as he felt himself getting closer and closer to coming. Jared was _good_.

Jared bent over him, nipping at Jensen’s throat, and Jensen orgasmed with a moan, rocking into Jared’s grip. He felt as if he were in the ocean, riding out waves during a storm in Jared the lifeboat.

Or something. Jensen thought that he’d climb onto Jared’s boat any time. He blinked complacently at Jared and Jared smiled back as he closed a hand over the one that Jensen had on Jared’s still hard dick. “Just like that…” Jared breathed, moving Jensen’s hand hard and fast over himself. “Oh, God, Jensen, you don’t even…” He dropped his head against Jensen’s shoulder and came, shuddering.

Jensen was touched by how Jared had thoughtfully moved his clothes out of the way first. Now _that_ was a professional model. Jensen sighed happily as Jared rolled off of him, panting, and closed his eyes. Well. It certainly hadn’t been a massage, but Jensen was feeling pretty relaxed anyway. He drifted away, dreaming of flower-strewn runways.

He’d never had a better nap.

* * *

Jensen awoke to a general feeling of contentment except for the fact that he seemed to be laying on something quite hard. And breathing. He lifted his head and peered blearily at the person he was using as a pillow and nearly felt his heart stop because Jared was staring back at him and, now that he was aware, the room smelled vaguely of sex. “Did we…?”

Jared nodded.

“Oh.”

Jared nodded again, harder this time. Jensen squinted his eyes, staring at Jared until Jared began to squirm a little under him but then, like most things in his life, Jensen decided that it just didn’t bear thinking about. He sighed and laid his head back down on Jared’s chest. “Okay.”

These things had a way of sorting themselves out.

In the meantime, weren’t they supposed to be at a day spa? Yeah, sex was relaxing and all but Jensen was going to be sorely disappointed if he never received a massage. What kind of spa was this anyway? It was a good thing that he hadn’t paid for it, because he’d be demanding his money back.

Jensen started when the door opened again and was swiftly dumped to the floor when Jared shoved him off. Jensen glared a little but rose to his feet. Perhaps it was just a reaction to the sex, but he didn’t feel the urge to complain about Jared at the moment. Not when the man was shirtless and quickly stuffing his impressively sized manhood back into his pants. Yeah. It had to be the sex. Jensen chalked it all up to en-dolphins and turned to the door.

A white rabbit bounded inside, followed quickly by Misha who was glancing around wildly. Misha stared at the both of them. “Oh, good,” he said. “She didn’t get to you. You’re still here.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Jensen asked before switching the topic to more important matters. “And where is the masseuse? I thought this was supposed to be a day spa? You know. D-a-i-y-e? Day? At this rate, you might as well title it a, a, a…week spa. …Week as in lots of days and not, you know, ‘weak’ like you can’t pick anything up. Though, it could be that, too.”

Strangely enough, Misha dropped his head into his hands. Maybe he was feeling contrite for having left them here for so long. “You have no idea, do you?”

“Idea about what?” Jared asked, finally speaking up. Jensen had almost forgotten that he was in the room.

“Never mind,” Misha said shortly. “Just…come on! I finally managed to lose her and we don’t have much time!” He leaned forward and grabbed Jensen’s arm, dragging him from the room. Jensen grabbed Jared in self-defense and they all slipped out of the room like a crazy conga line, leaving just the white rabbit bouncing around in the room.

“Whoa!” Jared stumbled. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“I’ll fill you in later!” Misha snapped, turning a corner. “I wasn’t able to stop—” He glanced over at Jared and cut himself off sharply with a hissed curse. “Don’t listen to any music for, oh, the rest of your life and just keep your mouth shut—consider that good advice, m’kay?” Jared frowned unhappily and Jensen felt a strange urge rise inside of him—sort of like indigestion if that indigestion came with the compulsion to defend Jared. He must have eaten something _really_ weird.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say,” Jensen said, though he had no idea why really. It wasn’t as if Misha was talking to _him_ … And Misha was still his employer.

Misha sighed and kept walking, turning them around so many different corners, Jensen was starting to get dizzy. He didn’t know how Misha was able to keep track of so many different turns. He must have been part mouse or something to be able to run so freely in the maze that they were in. Jensen often thought that mice were smarter than they let on. They lived their lives doing mazes and eating cheese—there were worse things in life.

Choral singing suddenly exploded through the narrow hallway that they were in and Jensen jumped as Jared tentatively called, “Heshin?” When Jensen frowned at him, he shrugged. “Heshin’s always singing.”

Misha dropped Jensen’s arm and fumbled for his pockets. “No. It’s my phone.” He quickly pulled out a small black dot—the newest model from Nokia—Jensen was so jealous; he was on the waiting list—and answered it. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re almost there. Just a—”

“And vhere do you tink you are going?” Jensen shivered at the disembodied voice that was ringing through the hall—there was just something about it that made him think of certain doom. Well. That and polyester socks but those equaled about the same thing.

Misha slowly turned around to face the way that they’d come, his shoulders hunched and Jensen and Jared followed his lead. Standing behind them, blocking the hall, Katinka snapped a whip and cocked out a hip. Jensen spared a quick moment to appreciate her catsuit—it was perfected tailored to her body—before remembering that he was supposed to be afraid. He cowered. “Sneaking off, MiSHA?” she asked, her voice hissing on the S. “After all we have done for you. And you know that you are too late—”

“Of course I wasn’t sneaking off!” Misha said loudly, smiling and fluttering his hands like a demented hummingbird. “Why would I ever be sneaking anywhere much less off? You know how much I truly enjoy your—oh my God, look over there!” He pointed to a spot just beyond Katinka’s head, causing the woman to whip around and see what had distracted him. Jensen squinted, trying to see what Misha was pointing at as well, but it was awfully hard when he had Misha tugging on his arm and hissing for him to “Run already!” Run _what_? A second set of hands joined Misha’s and tugged Jensen along until he finally understand that he was supposed to _run_. Oh.

It took Jensen a minute to realize that the other person who was tugging at his shirt was none other than the unfortunate fashion victim he’d been meeting on and off all day. Christian was running beside them, one hand on Jensen’s shirt and the other on Jared’s, panting something about how he “had it! Gonna bring ‘em all down!” Jensen wanted to ask what Christian was going to bring—maybe cookies? Jensen liked cookies—but he didn’t dare cross the crazy look that Christian had in his eyes. That was the kind of look that got people outfitted in Birkenstocks and thrown in fishtanks. …Or something involving ugly, clunky shoes and fishes. Jensen wasn’t quite sure. It did sound scary, though. Nothing was worse than having on the wrong pair of footwear, fishes or no fishes.

With Misha leading, and Jensen, Jared and Christian following, they bolted down hallway after hallway until Jensen was convinced that they must have surely reached Hong Kong by now. Jensen didn’t know how far away Hong Kong really was, but he did know that it was time enough for three in-flight movies, two small dinners, a long nap and a quick runway show, so it must be in outer space somewhere—which is where they seemed to be running to. Christian and Misha were starting to wheeze beside him, but Jared was still going strong. Peak physical condition—like a true model.

As sudden as a flash from a camera, though, they emerged into a large, dark open area with hundreds of people milling around, dressed in the latest fashions and holding colorful drinks with little umbrellas. Misha stopped so quickly that Jensen slammed into the back of him and Jared into the both of them. If it wasn’t for Misha’s elbow in his ribcage, Jensen thought that he might have been able to enjoy his new position. “Where are we?” Jared whispered in Jensen’s ear and Jensen shrugged. How was he supposed to know? Obviously Hong Kong or outer space.

Two of the men that Jensen had seen earlier emerged from the hallway behind them and Christian grumbled. “Not this again…”

Music was pumping from unseen speakers and Jensen frowned as he recognized the refrain of a Lady Gaga song. Beside him, Jared stiffened and Jensen patted his hand absently. It was okay. There were worse things than to be trapped in a room with a bunch of people and Lady Gaga. After all, lower the lights and throw in a lot more people and you had a rave. It was nothing that a model couldn’t handle.

And wasn’t that Danneel Harris? Jensen had worked with the designer lots of times. He loved wearing her clothes. And that was Chad Michael Murray… They’d done a couple of shoots together. And over there was Sophia Bush… And was that Billy Zane?

Just where _were_ they? David Bowie waved at Jensen from the corner and Jensen waved cautiously back, still glancing around warily.

“Damn,” Misha muttered. “I was afraid this would happen…”

“What?” Christian asked, sounding panicked. Perhaps he was ca-lause-trop-hobic. His knuckles were turning white where he was gripping Jensen’s shirt. Jensen fought back the impulse to pull the easily wrinkled fabric from his hand.

“We entered White Corner.” White Corner? Wasn’t that the cool and happening club that had just opened up in Hawaii? Well no _wonder_ they were seeing all the familiar faces then. This was the exact kind of place that Jensen would have been if he hadn’t been on the job. …Or, rather, contemplating being on the job.

“What’s wrong with White Corner?” Jensen asked. He’d heard only good things about it. He was suddenly glad that he’d dressed in Louis Vuitton today. If he’d been see out in public in less, he’d be as panicked as Christian looked. Suddenly, it all made perfect sense.

“Hey, Jensen!” Danneel called from across the room, setting her drink down at the bar. Jensen waved at her but Misha slapped his hand down.

“Don’t wave!” he snapped.

Jensen pouted, not understanding. “But why?”

“It gives away our position! The only thing to do now is to try and use this crowd to sneak away!” Misha glanced both ways suspiciously and tried to sink down lower without actually getting onto his knees or bending over.

“…But I thought we weren’t sneaking?” Jensen was _so_ confused. Misha just really needed to make up his mind. Life would be so much easier.

“Shut up and move!” Jensen did as ordered despite how much he wanted to dig in his heels because there was a reason why he was a top model. He was good at following directions. They almost made it to the other side of the room before Jensen realized that something was seriously wrong: Jared wasn’t with them.

He balked, hauling Misha backwards, startling an “Eeep!” out of the man.

“Where’s Jared?” Jensen asked, looking around at the surrounding room. He saw lots of people all around him in the low light of the room, but he didn’t see a hair of Jared’s perfect head.

“Who?” Misha snapped, pulling on his arm.

“Jared!” Jensen wasn’t going anywhere without him.

…That was odd, wasn’t it? Jared was supposed to be his number one rival. …Right?

“Oh no…” Christian whispered, pointing back towards the center of the room. Jensen followed the finger and his jaw dropped. Jared was wading through the crowd, managing to stand out despite the overwhelming beauty of the room—definitely a good model—and seemingly making a beeline for Danneel. Maybe he wanted to say hi, Jensen thought.

“Jared!” Jensen called, darting back into the crowd. Just where was Jared going? Behind him, he heard Misha swearing and Christian yelling about the music but Jensen just wanted to reach Jared.

Before he could, sharp claws dug into his arm and pulled him backwards as someone used him to propel themselves forward. He caught sight of a severe face and perfectly straight black hair before he was shoved into a group of people. “No, you fool! The _other_ designer!” Jensen caught himself on Elle Macpherson and apologized profusely before going back after Jared.

Lady Gaga was still going strong, singing about her bad romance. “Jared!” he called, but Jared must not have heard him, because he was heading back the other way, towards a wide-eyed Misha. When Misha squeaked and ran, Jared followed after him, charging through the crowd.

“Jared!” What was he _doing?_

The music stuttered and cut out. Most of the dance floor stopped, though a few didn’t seem to notice and kept dancing through the silence. Jensen didn’t care, though, because Jared had stopped too, looking around in confusion. “Jared!” Off to the side of the dance floor, Jensen saw Christian wrestling with a large, dreadlocked man. Now, really. This was hardly the time to be fooling around.

“Jensen?”

Jensen threw himself at Jared, catching a hold of him. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Jared admitted, looking lost. “I’m just…” Christian flew across the room, propelled by the large, dreadlocked man, and Lady Gaga whirled back to life. Jared’s face snapped around to stare hard at Misha who was doing his best to blend in behind the potted fern. “…doing as instructed.”

“What does that even mean?” Jensen demanded. But Jared was roughly yanking Misha out of his hiding spot and raising a fist.

The music cut out again, this time sounding like a dying cat as sparks flew off to Jensen’s right. Christian was there, standing over the controls with what looked to be an axe like he was some kind of crazy person. …That might explain the lumberjack plaid, actually, Jensen thought. “It’s the music!” Christian shouted, just before he was tackled by Katinka.

“You’re dead!” she screamed, knocking him to the floor and wrapping her arms around him.

Jared dropped Misha, staring at him in horror as he wiped his hands against his shirt. “I don’t…What am I…?”

Vinyl squeaked across the floor as Christian managed to shove Katinka off of him. She lunged again, but was caught by the people that she had crashed into. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” Christian shouted. “I have proof of a top secret conspiracy that this woman is a part of!”

“I vill have your head, Sears and Roebuck!” Katinka spat. “Don’t listen to ‘im! ‘E lies! Just look at those clothes!”

A few people tentatively nodded in understanding. To be fair, Jensen thought that part of it might have to do with the axe.

Until Misha stepped forward. “It’s true! It’s all true!” Jensen had no idea what was going on anymore. It seemed as if the world were turning without him. He considered sitting down. Maybe that would help. “I was a part of this conspiracy until just a few months ago when I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Traitor!” Katinka shouted.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore!” Misha cried. “I mean, no matter what I did, everyone loved it! I was beginning to think that _I_ was the crazy one! I put models in trash bags and everyone thought it was the latest fashion!” There was a collective gasp from the crowd—some looking down at their one-of-a-kind Misha Garbagé outfits in horror—and Jensen felt a surge of shock. What was he _saying_? “This year, I put models into bikinis and scarves and everyone thought I was a genius!”

“You mean…?” Jensen started, feeling like the entire world was tipping like one of those way cool snow globes.

“It was a desperate commentary and no one got it!” Misha looked ready to have a breakdown. His hands clutched at his hair. “But the final straw came when I was asked to recruit someone to kill Danneel Harris. Danneel! Kill! I just couldn’t do it. So they’re trying to kill me!” He squeaked. “They wanted Danneel dead…”

Jensen’s jaw dropped again as the entire room swiveled to look at the designer in question. He… Wait, what?

“…Because she sold some of her exclusive designs to Kmart.”

There was an even bigger gasp than the last time as Danneel dropped her head in shame. “It’s true,” she whispered, covering her face and trying to hide from the eyes that were staring at her. Jensen felt betrayed. Why would anyone do such a thing? What a horrible accusation! “It’s all true. I just wanted…”

“To ruin everything!” Katinka screamed, breaking free of the hold that the crowd had on her. She darted toward Danneel, her arms outstretched, ready to kill, and Jensen just reacted.

“No!” Jensen shouted. He ran forward, stepping in between her and Danneel and he felt some kind of unknowable power swelling inside of him. Some kind of surety. He didn’t even think twice. He didn’t have to. His features automatically schooled themselves and he turned and faced Katinka just knowing that something was happening. Something new and different and awesome and it felt as if all the air was being sucked out of the room.

Katinka’s charge slowed and halted as Jensen stared her down. It was if time were frozen. This, Jensen thought, this must be what it feels like to be on the top of the world. Years of being the world’s top model and he’d never felt like this before. But then again, he’d never had Magnum before.

The crowd around him was staring in shock and awe—some were openly weeping—and Jared had fallen to his knees, staring in wonderment. Jensen felt unbeatable. He felt like he was a god. He felt…

He sneezed.

Katinka was slammed into by club security and dragged to the floor as Christian held aloft a little black stick, loudly proclaiming that it was the evidence needed to finally catch the villains—the ones that had escaped justice the last time. Jensen didn’t know what any of it met. He just knew that Jared was still staring at him in amazement with a little bit of helpless lust thrown in even without Magnum and Jensen thought he liked that.

“Jensen!” Danneel said, grabbing his shoulder and dragging him in for a hug. “Are you okay? You saved me!” Jensen grinned, wrapping his arms around her. He had! He had saved the day! He was, like, some kind of fashion superhero! Except without the tacky tights. He might, though, want a cape. He’d have to look into that.

“Jensen,” Jared quietly said, having stood up and moved next to him. Jensen abandoned Danneel to pull Jared in close, soundly kissing him on the lips as Jared kissed him back, throwing his big arms around Jensen and holding him like he never meant to let him go.

Life, Jensen thought, could sometimes be alright. Even better. Sometimes, it could be perfect. Especially for the really, really, ridiculously good-looking.

* * *

E-pil-og-u-e

Jared’s cock-a-doodle-poodle-toodle flew across the room, screeching as it flapped its wings and landed on its perch. Jensen wasn’t dumb. He knew that it was a “cockatoo” (well, okay, now he did), but it made him happy to still keep thinking up new names for it. Plus, he liked the way that Jared playfully rolled his eyes and smiled when he shared his latest one. Jared kind of thought that Jensen was a genius for coming up with so many.

Speaking of Jared, he was over by the stone oven, pulling out a large loaf of bread and placing it on a rack to cool—one of the many awesome things that Jared routinely did in his house. Henshin, the monk, smiled happily and sipped at his tea while Janine, the spiritual advisor, kneaded another loaf. Kevin, the midget, was standing on a stool next to her, trying to make sure that she got this one right.

Leaving the bread, Jared came over to stand behind Jensen, wrapping his arms around him and clasping them in front while he kissed Jensen’s head. “What are you smiling about?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Jensen said because, at this point, what _wasn’t_ he smiling about? He had a great career, great boyfriend, a great life… Okay, sure, the llama and him were still on some iffy terms but, for the most part, Jensen had adjusted into Jared’s cluttered lifestyle and felt better for it. He had to admit, it was rather fun to travel around with the eclectic bunch that Jared liked to collect. He even got along with the bird.

After uncovering the evil plot that had been afoot—or even ahand—Jared and Jensen had, much to Misha’s dismay, finished up an award-winning shoot that cemented not only their celebrity status but also their tie for “Model of the Year.” Misha’s designs had been in high demand, people demanding more, and his stock had risen sharply.

Of course, shortly after, Misha had retired from the fashion industry to become a political activist but he was still the most well-dressed political activist on the scene. He frequently complained, however, that he was with even crazier people now. Jensen didn’t quite get it—even though he laughed politely at Misha’s jokes—but he did know that Misha was stopping by more and more frequently and that was a good thing as far as Jensen was concerned.

Jim Beaver had been, to put it mildly, over the moon. “That’s the ticket, kiddo! We’re going to make millions!” He hadn’t been too thrilled with Jensen’s decision to retire from the world of modeling this year but, Jensen figured that Jim would get over it. Eventually.

It had just seemed like the right move. Jensen knew that he was never going to be able to top his performance from that campaign—and it didn’t feel right to even try. He didn’t want to “cheapen” the experience like a poorly gilded necklace that turns your neck green so it’s not even worth wearing. Instead, feeling like he had a lot to share with the world, Jensen had opened a modeling school, helping to teach a new generation how to follow in his footsteps. He was also involved in a project to write his life story. Well. Christian—minus the horrendous plaid that Jensen had finally managed to convince him to give up—was the one actually writing it but, seeing as how Jensen was the one living it, he thought that it should count.

Jared, after successfully being de-Tivoed (Jensen thought that the doctors had used the word “program” but they’d compared it to a VCR which just went to show how horribly out of date they were), still had a bit of leeriness about Lady Gaga songs but wasn’t attempting to kill any fashion designers, so Jensen considered that a plus. He’d joined Jensen at the modeling school, teaching such important classes as “Extended Surfing Study” and “Football 101.” Sometimes, he even joined Misha’s sessions, as Misha often guest-taught when he happened to be in town. Mostly, though, he was completely devoted to making Jensen’s life as perfect as possible.

Jensen dropped his head against Jared’s well-defined chest—they were retired, not slackers—and pondered for a bit as his hands gripped Jared’s arms. He glanced over at where the snowboarders that Jared had picked up over in the Swiss Alps were cleaning their boards next to the two dogs that Jared and he had adopted together and then turned to smile back up at Jared. Jared smiled back.

Yeah, Jensen, thought, his life was pretty much perfect. Not only was he was really, really, ridiculously good-looking but he was also really, really, ridiculously happy.


End file.
